


Boxed In

by lovedeterrence



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Gen, Guns, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovedeterrence/pseuds/lovedeterrence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adachi tries to talk himself into suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boxed In

**Author's Note:**

> "stop making adachi sad" i say  
> "let adachi be happy" i say  
> and then i do these things so who knows what my damage is
> 
> intro quote from mad world because i am convinced this is adachi's theme song

_“And I find it kind of funny; I find it kind of sad. The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.”_

Too much to drink. Never enough to drink. I release a miserable laugh. I sway on the floor and eye my empty apartment. There was very little to show that this place was inhabited. The floor was oddly spotless and there were no possessions. There were no pictures on the wall or any sort of decorations, only the necessary furniture and cooking utensils. My shirt and pants were discarded near me, and a gun and holster was abandoned next to them.

My eyes land on the gun, and I stare at it thinking about everything it stood for. I think of how hard I worked at the police academy. I tell myself I only became a cop for the gun so it hurts less. What a fucking joke, huh? I lift it; a bitter grin spreads across my lips. I press the barrel against my bare chest and feel a chill from how unfriendly the metal feels. I shudder involuntarily. Once a coward, always a coward, I suppose. My finger lingers on the trigger and I close my eyes. I bring the gun up to my chin, pressing it against my jaw. I bite my lip. How was someone supposed to do this? The head, the heart, maybe in the mouth? My stomach did a flip at the thought.

I bring the gun to my temple and let out a shaky sigh. I press it hard against my skin, so hard I’m sure there will be a circular mark if I remove it. This isn’t even a big deal. The man behind the serial murders in Inaba was not welcomed here. I didn’t even exactly want to be here. There is nothing for me. Everyone has someone else. Everyone has a family, a friendship, some kind of bond. I have nothing. I don’t know what it’s like to have anything. I don’t want anything, right? I feel my hand start to shake and I drop the gun to my lap. I take a deep breath. There’s nothing here for me. I’ll never belong. I’ll never be good enough.

An image of Yu-kun, Nanako-chan, and Dojima-san enters my head. They’re probably gathered around the table tonight drinking the coffee that Dojima-san makes. They would drink out of their family mugs and Nanako-chan would tell them all about her day. They probably had a nice dinner. I don’t think I ate today. I take another swig of beer, a swig being about half the remaining can. I stare blankly at the wall, thinking about the gun in my lap. It would work. I lift it again and it feels even heavier than before. I imagine their happy little family again.

I put the gun in my mouth. The metal is unpleasantly cold against my tongue and I try to repress the tremors in my body. All I need to do is pull this trigger and I’ll rid myself of this shitty world that I don’t belong in. My shaky finger reaches the trigger and I feel wetness running down my cheeks. The tremors I tried to control hit me at full force. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to live. I push the gun deeper into my mouth to stop myself from sobbing. I nearly gag. I rub my tongue against the barrel to torture myself further. If I pull the trigger right now, I would be done. No more Tohru Adachi. No more anything. Just a dead mess of blood and guts on the floor. I feel my stomach squirm and a simultaneous rise in my boxers at this. I inwardly laugh at what a disgusting mess I am as a couple of irritating tears fall from my face.

I breathe in, trying to keep my finger steady on the trigger. This is a joke and me being a fucking coward is the punchline. I steel myself. Who would find the body? How long would it take? Weeks, probably. No one would notice. The sobs threaten to burst out of me again. I need to shut myself up once and for all. My finger steadies.

The muffled ringing of my phone in my pants pocket a meter away from me takes my attention away from the gun in my hand. I try to tune it out, but it persists and I drop the gun. I crawl over to the source inconvenient ringing, the overwhelming amount of beer I had drank made this even harder for my pathetic ass.

> _Incoming Call: Ryotaro Dojima_

Seeing that name on the screen depletes any resolve I had to finally put myself out of my misery. I shake and fall to the floor. Sobs rack my body and I punch the floor repeatedly, knowing my knuckles are probably split from the force I put into the hits. I scream and pull my own hair, drowning out Dojima-san’s second attempt at calling me. When the rings finally subside, I curl up wondering what would have happened if I answered. I cry myself to sleep in that position on my floor, a million “what ifs” circulating through my head. Worst part of it all is I have to live and face this hangover in the morning.


End file.
